The Nightingale and The Rose
by Mademoiselle Bree
Summary: Oneshot, loosely Kay-based. Warning for drug use and angst. There was nothing left... nothing but the half-faded ghosts of the past...


His hands clutched at his chest as the memories returned. They always did. His heart seemed to cease, though he knew it was only wishful thinking. God never had been kind to him, and he doubted that he would kill him to end his suffering.

He reaches yet again for the needle; oh, the blissful release it supplies with a single prick of the skin. A single drop of blood forms, but he doesn't notice. The memories begin to fade now, becoming no than a mere photograph, half an empty portrait of the ghosts of his years. It fades even further, leaving nothing but the ravishing euphoria.

Oh, yes, he knew full well that it could kill him – especially in his weak state of health. 'It would be a relief, really,' he thought gently, smiling to himself as he thought of the death that would finally come with the release of this body; the body that only ever caused him trouble and pain; others, countless horrors.

No, nothing could compare to the pain she inflicted. Yes, she was still his shining angel – always would be. She had been everything, and he cursed himself for his weak-minded, hopeless stupidity. Why had he ever even bothered? He knew it would only bring him pain, the hope. That was the one word he couldn't stand – hope – he hated the singular feeling that always caused him a bitter let-down. Hated it even more so than a broken promise.

Oh, how he hated God. Why must he always be the butt of his cruel jokes, his cruel punishments? Did he really deserve all of this pain?

He staggered to his feet as he fallowed the path that he had traveled so many times before, stumbling blindly in the haze caused by the drug slowly wrapping it's fingers around his brain.

He had to see her… one more time. Always one more time. He tortured himself – oh, he knew it well. It was his own punishment to himself for his stupidity. How many times had he seen her one last time? Countless times, he supposed. It always ended in him planning to take his life, but he always backed out at the last moment – almost like something was compelling him to continue on.

Somewhere through the hazy cloud of his brain, he noticed that it was raining. He didn't mind it though… it only meant he might catch ill. And he really hoped that he would.

Five years – five long years he had come here. Watching, hoping she would see him, yet she never had, never looked up… always so close, so close – yet too far.

Even now, he watched. Her silent protector; her fallen angel. Yes, he would somehow always belong to her, he knew. His heart would, at least. Though she would never be his – not truly, at least.

No, he could never take her. She belonged to the boy in every way. He really did take care of her, and was so sweet and tender to her – never even raised a hand to her. The boy loved her. And with a pain in his heart, he finally realized what he had known all along, but had been afraid to admit to even himself.

He would have killed her. Christine was a creature meant to thrive among the living, not be condemned among the dead. He would have crushed the life out of her. No, she wasn't strong enough for him. He was, in some twisted way, glad that she chose to leave with the boy. He would be kind to her, gentle toward her. No, he would have hurt her. Even in the short life he had watched unfold before him, he knows he would have hurt her so many times, even unintentionally so.

She flitted about gently, combing the small child's hair – her son. Her eldest child – so young and so much like her. Her belly was now protruding, round and awaiting her second. It made him sick with jealousy that it was not his own seed that took root within her and grew in her tender body, that it was not his own child before her. He had always wanted children – they were so innocent, so trusting – even Reza had been… but he mustn't dwell on it, for it would never be. He knew he would never have the pleasures of the flesh – he didn't want anyone but her. Even now, as she carried another man's child, he could feel himself burning for her. It was all he could do to hold back his sob.

She put her hand on her stomach, pausing as she gasped and let out a gasp of surprise. She called out, and the boy came in. They chatted quietly, then she took his hand in her own delicate one, and placed it upon her stomach. Both their grins grew as he took her into his arms, pressing small kisses to her forehead, murmuring sweet words of love.

It nearly sickened him to watch, but he couldn't seem to look away. She looked so… so… _happy_. He felt a stab of pain in his stomach. She was happy… without him. For all she knew he could be dead, but she was happy. Wasn't this what he wanted all along? No, no. He had to admit it to himself now. He was a very selfish being. How could she be happy? He shouldn't have come, he realized this, but now couldn't seem to leave. It was nearly sick, what he was doing to himself.

When he looked up again, she was alone. She hummed a quiet tune to herself, too quiet for him to hear from his post. She walked to a desk, and produced a small key, opening a drawer and smiling lightly. What happened next took him completely by surprise – she pulled out a small, plain, golden wedding band. His ring.

She looked at it for a moment, then let out a tender sigh. He watched a tear slip down her cheek, and found it all he could do to keep from going to her. No, he shouldn't have come here. But he did, and now he had to take whatever happened in stride. It would be his fault anyway.

He made his way silently. He was so close to her… so close, yet too far away. It always seemed she was just out of reach, unattainable. A glittering gem, too precious to be within his grasp.

She saw him. She looked straight at him, her mouth dropping slightly – mesmerized. Perhaps of fear, perhaps of happiness, but it lasted only a moment.

"… Erik," she whispered as though she didn't believe her eyes. "Erik, mon ange, is it really you?"

He only moved closer. He didn't care anymore what happened to him. It was too late to go back anyway – she had seen him.

"Come… come here!" she pulled the window open further, taking his arms and helping pull him into the house. He stumbled and fell to the floor. "Oh, Erik," she looked so sad. "What has happened to you?"

"You must be cold… stay here…" she left, being sure to close the door behind her. For a moment, he felt a temporary fear that she would not return, or would just go find the boy, but soon realized that it wasn't true when she returned by herself with a heavy blanket and a soft towel.

"Here," she held out the towel to him. When he didn't take it, she forced him to, shoving it into his arms. "You needn't fear – Raoul and Gustave have left to the market. They will be gone at least two hours."

"Ch… Christine," his voice sounded frail, cracked. He watched her cry another tear, but this time reached out and wiped at it with his thumb.

"Yes, Erik, it's me. It's Christine… I've missed you so…" he only looked at her with disbelief. "I do miss you, Erik. It's so hard… even now, I only half believe you to be real… I've seen you so much. Every time I know it's only my imagination… Oh, how I miss you!"

"Christine… misses her Erik?" There was the hope again. He seemed to set himself up to be crushed.

"Yes, oh truly I do!"

"Erik has missed his Christine as well," he was barely above a whisper now.

She smiled sadly at him. "I'm to have another child soon."

"I know Christine."

"The doctor doesn't think that I'm strong enough for another birth… I'm going to die, Erik."

At this, he clenched his jaw. "Christine, you mustn't think that way." He couldn't bear to think of it. Sweet, dear little Christine dead… it wasn't possible.

"Erik, I'm going to die." She repeated it firmly. "Raoul already knows… he… he's been so sweet to me, Erik. I really do love him, truly I do… it's just that sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice."

He rose to his feet and clenched her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Christine, if I had known… I wouldn't have come."

She clenched her fists angrily and broke from his grasp, turning her shoulder to him. "You wouldn't have come to see me… not even to say goodbye?"

He could hear the shake in his voice, and turned her gently toward him. Her tears nearly broke him, but he pulled her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was careful of the bulge between them. "Oh, Christine… my Christine… don't think that way. Of course I would come to say goodbye, it's just that… Oh, Christine, it can't be possible! And the boy… this isn't fair to you Christine."

"Erik, I love you." She clenched to his body with her words, and he had to steady himself so they didn't both fall.

He took a deep breath. "Christine… you don't know how long I have waited to hear that." He felt her smile, and couldn't resist asking. "How long?"

"One month." Her tone was nearly bittersweet.

"Oh Christine. It should be me that's dying, not you…"

"Promise me, Erik… promise me I will see you once more… before I'm gone," the desperation in her voice startled him.

He couldn't help but breathe out the words "I promise."

He could hear the wheels of the brougham approaching, and knew he must flee. He didn't want to move, but knew he must.

"Erik, I love you," she repeated quietly, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Christine, I love you," he answered back quietly.

"You must go… I hear Raoul…" before she finished her sentence he was already back in the brushes, hidden from sight as she received the boy with open arms. She wept openly, and when he asked her what was wrong, she replied that the baby was hurting her. He believed her, and they retired to the bedchamber together, leaving Erik more utterly alone than he had ever been.

-^.^-

That horrible night came. How he knew it was there, he knew not. He just had the distinct feeling. He forced himself to fallow the beaten path, back to where he had been so many times. At least it wasn't a lie this time – it would be the last time…

When he was close, he could see that he had been correct. There was a carriage in the front, and a man with a medical bag. Today was his angel's final day – and still he couldn't believe it. He knew he would die without her. When he lost her, he would lose all purpose to life for himself.

He could hear her, her sweet voice rasping of pain, and he fallowed the sound. The boy was with her, tenderly caressing her face, placing soft kisses on her.

"Little Lotte, I love you," this was said with so much despair that Erik found he pitied the boy for the first time. His voice cracked, and Erik could hear the tears he was desperately trying to hide.

He was soon asked to leave, and only did after promising Christine he would return as soon as he was allowed.

Erik watched the whole thing… there was so much blood. Dear, sweet Christine panting and screaming of pain and fear. When it was over, she was so pale. Erik feared for a moment as her breathing was so shallow, but was relieved when she gasped. "Erik…" she sounded so weak.

The doctors had left her, taking the perfect child out of the room. It allowed him perfect time – he slipped into the room and locked the door.

"I'm here Christine," he knelt at the head of the bed, taking her hands in his gently. "I'm always here…"

She smiled through the sheen of sweat that covered her face, and brought a hesitant hand up to pull away his mask. "I love you, Erik."

He let the tears fall, not bothering to restrict them anymore. She pulled his face down to the bed and first kissed away his tears, then held him to her breast. "Don't cry, angel… I'll always be with you."

He pulled away. "I love you Christine. Please, don't go yet…"

"It's my time, Erik… but I will always be waiting for you… and I'll be with you… watching… until you can join me…" she was struggling to draw breath, almost too weak to even speak.

He kissed her lips one last time, deeply, savoring the feeling of her. She smiled at him when he pulled back, and with her last breath said, "I love you… Erik…" and just as quickly as it began, it was over. She went limp within his arms, no warmth left to her.

Numbly he left, watching the boy rush in and take the cold body in his arms, weeping as he rocked with her.

They had belonged in different worlds, yet were somehow united. The nightingale and the rose.


End file.
